Bad news (Pewdiecry AU)
by OnlyLies
Summary: Cry's shy. Quiet. Keeps things to himself. He's more familiar with relocating than the average teenager. He's been around, seen how the order of school works, knows there's always a hierarchy. In this school, it's Felix Kjellberg who's at the top of the food chain. He's bad news. And Cry knows that. He still can't stay away. Warnings; bad language, possible smut & angst.
1. New school

**a/n: **hiiii. welcome to a new story, which i'll (hopefully) write alongside with 'all this time i've known you'. basically taking turns to update those two. it's going to be difficult, transitioning from one story to the next, but i'll try. now all the boring stuff's done and be explained, let's get on with this story. high school au. this should be _fuun. _(sorry for the overuse of commas). ps. as cry has stated, he doesn't like his real name being used in fanfiction. so i decided to respect his wish and just call him cry.

Cry's hands fumble with his rucksack straps as he struggles to adjust them, slipping off his shoulders easily. He can feel whispers and stares boring into his skull from the opposite direction. First day at his new school, and already he's attracted unwanted attention. In the past, keeping his head down and his mouth shut has always worked. Here, it looks like it's going to be even more of a challenge to stay in the shadows.

This school is different. This school screams big, bold, bright. It screams everything Cry's not. Even the people here have a certain quality to them; in the way they walk, there's a bounce in their step, in the way they talk, not bothering to keep their voices down, loud chatter that buzzes in his ears. He can already tell it's going to be difficult to fit in. Cry is quiet, he speaks low and softly. He's shy, finds it hard to make friends. He has few friends back home.

'Back home' being Florida. St. Petersburg. Where days are long and sunny, he can remember the burning warmth of sunlight on his face, and hear the loud shrieks of seagulls as they soared past. He remembers the smell of salt, the smell of the sea. Inland, Cry doesn't feel safe. He feels too far away from home for comfort. Inland where skyscrapers stretch high, all he can see is concrete and shades of grey; the smell of burning petrol in his nose.

Two days after they move, his mother announces he's going to a public school. Cry chokes on the hot coffee he'd been sipping, and burns his mouth. He refuses to go to a school brimming with people. The thought terrifies him. The evening ends in long, tired arguments and worn-out voices. It ends with his mother slamming the door aggressively and hollering through the thin wood, "_You're going whether you like it or not!_" And with Cry snapping back he'll never go, muttering curses under his breath.

Yet here he is, a week later. Standing in front of a large building swimming with people. Trying to keep his back straight and not hunched, a natural position he often finds himself falling into. He's kept his head ducked down for so long, forcing it upwards to meet people's incriminating stares is harder than you'd think. Nigh impossible for him. His hands find his straps again, tugging and twisting it to keep him occupied as he walks up to the front entrance, sliding glass doors.

They open with a 'hiss', like they're proclaiming his arrival. Eyes flicker to him, but only briefly. He silently breathes a sigh of relief. Forcing his legs that feel heavier than lead to walk up to the front desk, to a receptionist with bubble-pink lips and an overly friendly smile, exposing her razor sharp teeth. "What can I do for you today, honey?" She asks in a voice sweeter than sugar. She'd be pretty, if bright colours that hurt your eyes were your thing, soft blonde hair curled in waves past her shoulders.

"I-I, er need a sign in sheet." Cry tries not to stutter, but his voice still trembles, a tremour in his throat.

"New student?" She questions, reaching for a neatly marked timetable. He catches flashes of words: _English. Maths. Double Science. _Nothing unfamiliar, and that's a relief to him. He sees her manicured nails grip a pen, poised to scribble a name across it. He nods, throat dry. "Name?" She prompts, drawn in eyebrows raised ever so slightly. It's barely noticeable, but Cry notices. He's become good at perceiving emotions, seeing the small things on people's faces nobody else seems to notice. Cry can see what her face is saying, loud and clear: she's laughing at him, judging from the corner of her lip quivering.

Cry considers giving her his real name, but shakes the notion off. "Cry," he answers, waiting to see it flicker across her face. A few more seconds, and...there. There it is. The disbelief. The receptionist is quicker to conceal it than others he's met in the past, but not quick enough. At least she doesn't ask why, pen wiggling across the page as she scribbles in sloppy letters, '**Cry**'. Simple as that. No surname. He likes it.

"Here you go, _Cry,_" she puts emphasis on his unusual name, tongue peeking out between her bubblegum lips, "here's your timetable for the week. Five lessons a day, break and lunch. I'm sure you know the score by now. We've got four major buildings: New, Old, Centenary and Scott. Here's a map"- she hands him an elaborate scrap of paper, lines and letters that blur the more he stares at it-"to help you find your way around. If you ever got lost, ask one of the old years. I'm sure they'd be more than happy to help."

Cry highly doubts that. He's had more than his fair share of schools, and each one was like the previous. Nobody gave a shit about him, or spared any time in their day to help him. He doesn't hold it against them, it's just the way school works. Every man for himself. How else would Cry have survived all these years. But he silently nods in agreement, it's the only way to escape her sharp grin and sweet voice. "Okay honey, well I hope you have a good day." She smiles widely. Her eyes don't meet the smile.

As he turns to go he hears he mutter, "odd boy. Did you see him? Almost deathly silent. Creeped the fuck out of me." And her bark of a laugh. His ears also catch another voice, much younger and deeper: "He's new. I'd give him a break. Looked pretty cute, too." Cry's glad he's almost out the door when he hears it, so the receptionist and other voice don't see him blush to the tips of his ears. "Your type, then?" The receptionist sounds amused. The other voice murmurs something he can't hear, inducing a loud bark from her.

Cry scuttles out of the door as quickly as he can.

* * *

Maths and Double Science prove to be easier than he anticipates. They revise balancing chemical word formulas in Science, experiment with combining elements to find unusual compounds. Cry opts to combine mag nesium and zinc, which earns him an approving look from his teacher. He may not be good with socialising, and can't always think of the right words to say, but he _can _do Science. It's a strength of his.

But throughout both lessons people point, and whisper behind cupped hands. He knows it's mostly curiosity, all in human nature. He just wishes they were more discrete about it, so he doesn't feel like a walking portrait, there purely for people's interest. Cry does what he's always done, keeps his head down and focuses on his work. More than a couple of times his vision goes haywire, blurring. His glasses stay snugly in his bag, he refuses to bring them out just yet. He hates them, heavy frames that don't sit on the bridge of his nose well enough, unbalanced.

When the school bell rings, high and long Cry's never been more relieved. He's out of there in a flash, slinging his rucksack up onto his shoulders, grabbing his pile of heavy hardbacks. Extra reading books he's brought along bounce around inside his bag as he moves. He likes to read during lunchtimes, undisturbed, usually in small corners of libraries- and if the school doesn't have one- in the playground, back leaning against the passes the time. And Cry needs a good way to pass long school days.

"Hey, new kid." Cry looks up, before his eyes drop down. To see a shorter redhead, with a small build and lips as red as her hair. Sparkling green eyes and an amused smile. She wears big glasses, magnifying her green eyes, framed by thick eyelashes- but they suit her. They suit her face. "Thought someone should give you a shitty introduction at some point," she says coyly. Her harsh words don't match her voice: soft and sweet. She stretches a hand out. "I'm Red."

When Cry doesn't shake her hand, she drops it down, shrugs. "Not the talking type? I can roll with that. Russ isn't either. He's my boyfriend, before you ask." She chatters on, while Cry remains happy being quiet and listening. He's good at listening. He finds out more about Red in fifteen minutes, than someone would ever find out about him in two weeks. She's seventeen- same age as him- loves to play video games- again, same as him- has been dating Russ for six months now, and dyes her hair crazy colours. There's no invitation of friendship, only Cry feels it in her welcome and the positive energy he gets from her.

Next is English, which he 'coincidentally' happens to be in the same lesson as him. Cry's beginning to suspect like she planned this all- not that he minds. It's a nice change from being alone. English isn't a strong point of is, and he struggles with pronouns and constructing 'correct' sentences, as the teacher shouts at him multiple times. Red helps him with clauses, surprisingly gentle and patient. By the end of the lesson, he has a new kind of respect towards her.

As they walk out of the lesson, Cry spots a younger year being dragged by the side by someone who looks roughly his age, hand clutching the boy's shirt. "You little shirt," the guy growls, "think it's funny to make fun of me? Make me look like an idiot. You think that's funny, huh?" Each word is emphasised with a shake, and Cry's about to step in, do _something- _but Red holds him back with a hand.

"Don't," she says quietly. "Just leave him be, he'll be fine." She obviously can see Cry wants to say something, to protest it's not right and shouldn't happen. She shakes her head. "That's just Felix," her voice is less than a whisper, casting glances towards the guy. She must be afraid of him too. "It's no use trying to stop it, you'll just make things worse for yourself."

"Who _is_ he?" Cry makes sure to ask quietly, eyes glued on the small boy, wriggling in the Felix's grasp. He's sweating. People pass them without a glance, it's amazing how easily they can pretend it isn't happening and walk on by. The guy must have some authority, from the way people give him a wide gap as they pass, avoid eye contact. Cry sees a few more linger in the back, smiling. Henchman. He recognises it all, it's not uncommon. Cry also guesses people worship the ground he walks on.

"Felix Kjellberg? Just some dickhead who happens to walk around the school like he owns it," Red replies bitterly. Sounds like she doesn't worship him. That makes Cry relieved; shows some people have common sense and don't just follow the pack. "His favourite hobbies include beating up younger years and intimidating people as a way of control."

The sight is all too familiar, for Cry. He's been the target, in the past. But it never fails to leave a sour taste in his mouth, forcing himself to stand back and watch, helpless, too afraid to help another. "Can't we help him? Somehow?" He tries, weakly. Red shakes her head, lips pursed. She seemed like the kind who would be able to stand up to Felix, know exactly what to say to put him in his place and make him feel like shit. Apparently not.

Couple of minutes, 'Felix' is done. According to Red, the boy gets off lightly. Bruises on his face and a dribble of blood from his nose. "He's done worse," she mutters, anger in undertones. "Let's go." She tugs at his arm, urgently. Felix is coming their way. "Come _on, _Cry." Another tug. But it's too late, Felix has reached them, and up this close, Cry didn't realise how tall he is, how he towers over him by a few inches. It intimidates him.

"He's new, Red," is the first thing Felix says, casually. "What are you doing with the new kid?" It's odd, because he says it all so calmly, yet Cry knows his mocking tone is intended. He notices the accent straight away, but can't single it out.

"Fuck off, Felix," Red scowls. She sounds so defensive, shoulders tensed up. 'Not the time to ask her if she's okay,' Cry reminds himself.

"Ouch. I'm hurt." Felix presses a hand to his chest, Cry's eyes follow it up to his face. It strikes him that he's good looking. Bullies in the past have been six foot two, heavy breathing, gap-toothed idiots with small minds and even smaller maturity levels. Felix is different. He's got an angular face, pouting pink lips- pierced by a ring- and dirty blonde hair that curls in the nape of his neck, fringe swept across his forehead. His eyes are ice blue, _cold _ice blue. There's no warmth there. "Guess I'd better find out for myself, then," he grins, and steps forward. Tattoos inked on his arm, piercings, he's every cliche of a 'bad boy' ever.

His mouth opens, but Red shouts, "No!" Her face scrunches up, like she's cursing herself for ever speaking. She smooths her face out, sighs. "No, Felix. You're not going anywhere near him."

"Sorry, but I do believe that's up to me, isn't it?" His grin is dangerous. His grin reminds Cry of all the boys he's ever warned to stay away from, the wild, reckless ones. The ones who stay out all night and smoke, who have tattoos and hurt people like it doesn't affect their conscience. That kind. "So what's your name?"

"Cry." He swallows. Felix is really close now, he can smell his cologne. It makes him want to cough. Badly. His eyes water.

"Just Cry?" Felix leans down to whisper in his ear, "I could call you something else if you'd want, baby." His stubble scratches against the skin on Cry's neck, it hurts. Cry can't help it, he flushes red, all over his entire body.

"Get the fuck away from him. Now." Red orders, teeth gritted. Luckily for Cry he obliges, straightening back up. He's grinning. Grinning at Cry's flushed exterior, how easily he manages to make him blush, despite the fact that Cry already feels like he hates this guy. Hates him to his bones.

"Guess I'll be seeing you around, '_Cry_'." And he's gone. Strolling down the corridor, followed by his henchman, who laugh and nudge each other. Cry wants to throw up. He turns to Red, questions in his eyes. She looks exhausted, weary.

"Let's go. I'll introduce you to the crew."


	2. Trust

**a/n: **yes there is a mention of snund in here. _i'm not ashamed snund shipper **through and through.**_this wasn't the best, but i guess not all chapters can be.

'The crew' turns out to be Red and her three other friends: Russ, Scott, and Snake. There's little introduction, just a simple 'hi', which Cry mumbles in return. He's only just met Red, and already he's straining a smile, trying to not look as nervous as he feels, gut twisting. Luckily for him, they turn out to be not the intrusive kind, who don't poke and pry into his personal life, firing questions at him. Still, he feels obligated to reveal a bit more than he usually would; like he instantly trusts these people. Cry tells them he's moved here from Florida, with his mother and sister. They seem interested enough, Red tilting her head to the side, a smile playing on her lips. Russ' arm is wrapped protectively around her waist, nuzzling into Red's shoulder. Cry finds it endearing.

And he does see, from the corner of his eye, Snake's arm brush against Scott's, and the look the two exchange. A secret only they share, shown in Scott's smile and Snake's glinting blue eyes. Cry's heart drops to the pit of his stomach. They all have each other, and who does he have? He bitterly remembers the last time he attempted a relationship. He inwardly shudders. He wants to forget, but he doesn't suspect he ever will forget 'Josh'. His shoulders stiffen and he has to force himself to relax, breathing in and out of his nose, remembering what the doctor suggested he do.

"So, everybody, this is Cry." Red nudges him playfully. "He's new here and I thought...well, I thought we could take him under our wing." She's joking, playful- but her eyes look serious. Like she's already concerned about Cry's welfare and what happens to him in this school. He appreciates the concern, but it reminds him of his mother. Constantly weighed down by worries, all circling around him. It's embarrassing. He's seventeen, not seven. He can stick up for himself.

"Hey, Cry," 'Scott' greets him with a lazy grin- he's still trying to memories their names, despite there only being four people- "Just move here?" He nods, silently. "Not the talker, are you?" Red gives him a look, but Cry's fine with it. He smiles, shakes his head. He won't be offended by people who point out he's a natural introvert, it's true. Luckily for him he's surrounded by people who have endless topics to discuss, and awkward silence never falls on the group.

For once in Cry's life, he feels happy. Comfortable in his own skin. When the bell rings again to signify the end of lunch, he can hardly believe it. He's discovered they all have one thing in common: video games. While Snake and Scott argue over Dark Souls, he overhears Russ and Red debate the best Pokemon character from Pokemon white. Some may say he's not really included, sitting on the fringes of conversation; but he's content with listening to Scott and Snake's raised voices, in contrast to Russ and Red's calm, hushed voices.

Cry really feels at home here, sitting on cooled concrete in January in a circle of people who are labelled 'nerds'. He's already sussed it out. He's become friends with the underdogs of school, the ones who are snickered at by those who consider themselves cool, pushed against lockers and have their glasses crunched into shards of glasses under size eleven trainers. Speaking of glasses...Cry fishes around in his rucksack for a bit, until his hands grab onto what he's looking for: thick black frames that are surprisingly heavy to handle, but manage to balance on the bridge of his nose somehow. His vision's been blurry all morning, conscious about how embarrassingly nerdy he looks with them on, and conscious of what people would think. In the past, they've been so judgemental.

But Cry trusts these people. He fumbles with them as he puts them on, rewarded with a couple of pairs of raised eyebrows and curious expressions, but they say nothing, which he's thankful for. It's a rush to get to class, waves upon waves of people that never seem to end bombard him, and for fleeting, panicked moments he thinks he's lost Red and he's stranded, alone. Really, it's his over imaginative mind that never ceases to be theatrical and cause him miniature heart attacks acting up, and he finds Red within a minute. "Come on, idiot," she says fondly? shaking her head in a scoff that makes him flush all over. "You blush way too easily," she adds, examining his face with eyes that are too searching for his liking. "Check what you have next," Red reminds him, prodding his shoulder.

He stretches an arm to unzip his rucksack, give another rootle around in it to find the timetable given to him only this morning, slowly being crushed into a crumple of paper by his heavy books. Cry panics. Really, really panics. He's a natural worrier, and small things like this can induce one of his attacks easily. He has to force himself to calm down. Taking deep breaths that sound like a wheezing, dying animal, he pushes his way to a secluded area, bent over at the knees and back as he rests his hands on his legs. The mantra '_in, out, in, out_' helps to calm his racing heart and mind, and the throb in his chest edges away a little. He looks up to see a concerned Red, features scrunched up.

"Shit, are you okay?" She asks, touching him lightly on the arm. Cry's noticed she's a very physical person, uses her hands to express what words can't. In any other situation, he'd flinch away from the touch, tell the person to go away while Josh flashes in his mind, but this is...this is someone he's placed his trust in almost instantaneously, and as of yet, he hasn't regretted it.

"Just panic attacks," he says between gasps. "They happen sometimes. Don't worry about it."

Red hovers. He can see she's hesitating, unsure of what to do. "Do you want me to get anyone? A teacher, the school nurse?"

"I'll be fine. Give me- give me a minute." Cry hears her footsteps fade out, and puzzles where she's going. Moments later, they return, and Red is grinning.

"Found your timetable. You can stop worrying now," back is the playful tone but he can still see that hint of concern, hidden between her features and her words. He hopes it doesn't stick around for long, he hates people worrying over him. He's not worth worrying over. _You're not worth anything. _The memory flashes out of nowhere, has him staggering back. "Cry? Fuck, man! You can't keep doing that!" Red sounds irritated. He doesn't blame here. He blinks, and it's gone. Just like that.

"Where's my timetable?" Priorities. He doesn't know the meaning of it. Red answers, but reluctantly. All he catches is a 'over by the brick wall', and he springs up, memories forgotten; just wants to _get his timetable and get to lessons._ As quickly as possible. The longer he stays out here, the more likely they are to be noticed. He doesn't want to be noticed. He wants to sit in the back of the classroom, his head down, and never have to raise a hand or answer a question. That is, if things were ideal.

His heart sings when he spots his timetable. Crumpled in places, but overall, in good condition. Lying flat against the wall, corners curling up for the wind. He reaches to snatch it, but sadly luck is not in his favour today, and a strong wind whips up, causing it to fly across the playground, carried by the breeze. Cry jogs after it, all the while thinking if he'd just kept his eye on it this wouldn't have happened. He blames himself, and mutters swear words under his breath, too ashamed to say them aloud. He's not big on swearing. If the words ever come out of his mouth, he cringes. They sound wrong.

Finally, the sheet settles down, hovering for seconds on the ground. Cry knows what to do: he lunges for it. Knocking into a solid body as he falls to the ground; so does the body. He doesn't see who it is for a few ticks, daring to peek through his eyelashes. Startingly blue eyes stare back at him, combined with a sly grin. Then the lightbulb switches on in his head, and he realises.

He's fallen onto Felix Kjellberg.


	3. Unwanted attention

**a/n: **ending on cliffhangers too much recently i'm sorry anybody who is reading this. i had to rush when i wrote this, going out to an opera i know i won't enjoy- wish me luck!

For a terrifying beat, Cry thinks Felix is going to kiss him. They're hairs apart, centimetres almost. Felix's eyes are wide blue saucers, Cry's palms on either side of Felix's body, supporting himself up. It still doesn't change the fact that his foot is digging into Felix's thigh- he's sure it hurts more than Felix lets on- his knee is scraped red raw from the fall, his hands have concrete grains embedded into them, and Felix is still wearing that crooked smile that causes him to flush.

"Cry!" He hears Red shout before Felix opens his mouth or Cry thinks of good words to say, "Cry, are you okay?" She sounds breathless and concern laces her tone. It's disconcerting for someone to care about him, he's not used to it.

"I'm-I'm fine," he tries to push himself off Felix, and collapses trying. "Could you- could you help me here," he mumbles, not meeting eye contact. Cry flushes again; he wishes he had something to hide behind. A mask would be good. "Felix?" He tries again, after no response. He looks to Red for help with helpless eyes; she springs into action. Offers him a hand, which he grabs and hears her grunt as she pulls him to his feet.

"Thanks," Cry says, quietly. He still doesn't look at Felix, but from the corner of his eye sees a movement, a flash of something. He guesses it's Felix getting to his feet. He brushes bits of gravel clinging to his sore hands, winces from the pain. There's a trickle of blood from the few embedded deep, and when Red sees it, she freaks out and insists he needs to be taken to the school's nurse.

It takes some convincing, but he persuades here there's little damage to his hands, and states several times, "I'm _fine._" Behind them, Felix is uncharacteristically quiet, and that scares him. He can feel that pair of blue eyes boring into his back, and he's becoming fidgety on his feet. While Red looks over him and fusses about him, Cry's silently wishing they could leave, _now. _He doesn't feel comfortable around Felix.

"Don't worry about me, then," A Swedish accent that causes him to freeze, speaks out in the temporary silence. Red scowls at him from behind Cry. The look on her face is ferocious, and Cry thankfully thinks to himself he's lucky he's on her good side.

"Fuck off, Kjellberg," she hisses. The surname rolls off her tongue, and makes her sound fluent in the language. "It's your fucking fault Cry's hands are bleeding." It's a bit of an exaggeration, Cry thinks to himself, glancing down at the drops of dried blood on one hand. But he can understand why she'd exaggerate.

"C'mon, Red, won't you ever warm to me? I've been at this school for two years now." His voice is smooth, dripping with honey sweet. Cry recognises that tone with a twisting gut. It reminds him of Josh, all the times he'd try to make up to Cry, get him to forgive him for the multiple times he'd hurt him. Cry always fell for it, and he blames his stupidity and easy trust in people for that. He'll never let himself fall so deeply for a person again. He's a lot more reserved, less trusting now.

"Go fuck yourself," Red sneers at him, before she grabs Cry's good arm and leads him away. He sneaks a look over his shoulder as they go to see Felix's grin directed at him, lip ring stretched to the corner of his mouth. This can't be good. He gulps.

* * *

"That was close," Red breathes out when they've lost sight of Felix, entered the front entrance of the school. Luckily the receptionist isn't there, and there's no sign of the figure to the voice Cry heard earlier belongs to. He glances at Red; gets a startle when he sees she's been staring at him with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"What?" He clears his throat, his voice has gone husky from the lack of talking. It happens. "Why- why are you looking at me like that?"

"Just thinking," she says seriously. "Wondering why Kjellberg has taken such an interest in _you _in particular. For whatever reason it is, it can't be good."

"Because he beats up people for fun and humiliates them?" Cry asks. She nods, affirming his worst fears. Felix is unwanted attention; as a matter of fact any particular interest taken in him is unwanted attention. He began this school day hoping to get through it without talking to too many people for his liking. Now, here he is, attracting the attention of the school bully, to put it simply.

"Exactly. Anyway, forget about him. He's not worth your time, and if he gives you any trouble, just tell one of the crew. We'll sort him out." Her threat concerning him doesn't reassure Cry as well as he'd like; he's met Felix's type before. He knows Felix will find some way to get around them, and get directly to Cry. "Okay?" Her green eyes are gentle, her touch is soothing.

"I will," he agrees without any intention to tell them should anything happen. He doesn't want to cause trouble, or go whining to them about his troubles. Red reminds him of his mother, when she cared about him and didn't harden into the person she is today.

"Good." She checks Cry's crumpled timetable that she's been holding in her hand; "you have English next. Good luck, the teacher's an asshole. Lucky for you Scott's in that class."

Cry says goodbye to her reluctantly, her presence gives him some confidence and the fiery words that contrast her sweet face protect him. His hands fiddle with his rucksack straps again; a bad habit he has when he needs to preoccupy his mind. English never was his strong point, writing or otherwise. Speaking publicly it's worse. He stuttered and stumbled over words, while people sniggered at him behind hands covering their mouths. Even reading aloud, he struggles. As for writing, he can't pick the right words to phrase sentences he has hovering in his head. He always has his pencil poised, hand trembling. Nothing comes out.

'Two more lessons, and the day is done', Cry thinks to himself as reassurance. Hoping he doesn't run into Felix again, see those tattoos and piercings again. He bumps into Scott on the way there, metres away from the door. Thanks to a map he's been given, he manages to find his way around easier than anticipated. He folds it and stashes it away deep in his bag, offering up a smile to Scott and a small greeting.

Cry's still shy towards Scott, but the guy's earning his trust bit by bit. He even feels brave enough to crack a joke, and feels successful when Scott laughs. They go into the classroom together, Cry's head down and his knees shaking. He feels pairs and pairs of eyes on him, which does nothing to help his confidence. He hears Scott's laugh again, and looks up to see him waving his hand and shouting to someone across the room, grinning. Cry's envious of how laid back he is about everything.

Muttering fills his ears, his back is stiff and his eyes are staring across to a poster-plastered wall. He's become incredibly good at ignoring stares. "Don't worry about them, man," Scott murmurs in his ear, yanking him to him so they shoulders bump, "they're just curious and rude."

Cry gets led towards an empty seat by the teacher, and catches the eye of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man across the room looking over at him with more than curiosity, fingers tapping against his lips. A blush creeps up from the back of Cry's neck, and he looks away. There's shivers going down his spine and a creeping feeling that tells him there's something to this guy than meets the eye.

A lot more.


End file.
